CHAPTER 7
Perspiring and her voice pitched in a desperate tone, my sister drags me back to the mansion, pleading for my help.
“What is going on?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to where the three men stand, dripping wet and facing the water.
“I’ll explain, but what was that?”
“What was what?”
“The look you and the mean twin exchanged.”
“The mean who?”
“Never mind. I need your help. I’m in a bind. Please say yes.”
First of all, the look exchanged with Mr. Muffin was one of surprise, but it was at that exact moment that I also recognized the strange sensation I’ve now experienced at each of our encounters.
It’s like I have an internal hiccup, like my heart and lungs are playing jump rope.
It’s a strange and all-consuming sensation, but unlike a regular hiccup, it’s not entirely unpleasant.
But it’s strong and impossible to ignore.
So is the tall man with the stylish and short-cropped hair. The deep tan. The powerful stature.
Unlike me, he’s wearing the same outfit as he was early this morning, making us even. I took a nice long shower and used my sister’s coconut conditioner.
Bean leads me to her wing and rifles through her massive closet, tossing clothing in my direction. “Put this on.”
“I just showered and changed,” I say as if that isn’t obvious given my admittedly crusty state upon my arrival in Coco Key.
“Lola got you wet. You have to change anyway.”
“You named the manatee?”
Bean shrugs. “That’s what everyone calls her. But that’s irrelevant. Listen, Mr. Edmonton is still in Miami recovering. He was supposed to be back, but they wanted to keep him an extra day for observation, leaving me to his duties.”
“I can handle the counter at Beans & Books no problem. I don’t see why I need to change.”
Still in the walk-in closet, Bean says, “All you have to do is read the papers.”
“Read what papers?”
“The will.”
My head tilts to the side like a dog, listening carefully and making sure it heard correctly. I stride over to the closet at the same time my sister emerges holding a pair of black, patent leather high heels. “These should fit.”
“Bean, what will?”
“The last will and testament of the Almeida estate. It’s simple. Don’t sweat it. Everyone on the island has more than one job.”
“Last I checked, I have none jobs on this island. As in not one, certainly not two.”
“Quickly, put this on.” She starts tugging at my tank top.
I grip her upper arms. “Robyn Patience Pratt, what has gotten into you?”
Despite my nickname for my sister, out of the two of us, Bean is the sister who has her life together—she is a paralegal with numerous other credentials. She runs a side hustle and doesn’t sleep at truck stops or spill smoothies on attractive men. At least not that I know of.
“I can explain everything later.”
“If you want to stuff my feet into those high heels, I want the full story, now.”
Two minutes later, I’m wearing an itchy business suit and am incredibly uncomfortable while Bean gives me a quick rundown of the Almeida estate—Carlos passed away, left everything to his grandsons, end of story.
“You look great.” Bean’s smile is the kind of frenzied derangement that I’m familiar with when I look in the mirror.
“I look like a penguin who got lost and landed in the tropics.”
“You’re going to be great,” Bean says, pumping me up.
I stumble in her heels. Even though she’s shorter, my feet are smaller. “Can I just wear my Converse?”
“Ask yourself, would I?”
“No one will see my feet under the desk.”
“Remember to get up and greet the family.”
“I have paint under my nails. No one will buy that I’m you.”
“They’re expecting Mr. Edmonton and don’t know what I look like, so they’ll be none the wiser. Those boys have been gone a long time. They don’t know any different and no one has to know.”
We pause in the hallway. Bean’s eyebrows pinch together. “Please do this for me? I can’t pass up my teleconference meeting with the coffee company from Brazil. If I get this account, Beans & Books is going to take off.”
I let out a sigh, not feeling good about this situation.
“You said you’re broke. I’ll pay you.”
“I said my credit card may as well have a no vacancy sign. There is no room on it. But you don’t have to pay me.”
“And you can stay here as long as you want.”
“What about Mr. Edmonton? What if I make a mistake? What if I get arrested for—?” The almost-forgery incident crashes into my mind.
“All you have to do is read from these documents.” She shoves them in my hands. “It’s that simple. Think of it like a script. That’s all I would do, anyway. I never even met Mr. Almeida.”
“But you studied law.”
“Right, but my job is just to file papers and read things. That’s it. Mr. Edmonton said it’s legal to do this. He would know.”
“Legal to pretend to be you?”
She wrings her hands. “Legal for me to read the documents. How about chocolate? All the chocolate you ever want?”
“You’re bribing me with chocolate?”
“And money. Books. Anything. This coffee company is incredibly hard to get a call with and it’s my ticket to Beans & Books’ success.”
I let out a sigh. “I haven’t had chocolate in months.”
“So, it’s a deal?” My sister bounces on her toes.
I thrust out my hands. “But if I get arrested, you have to pretend to be me and serve the time in the slammer.”
We shake on it. Then she hurries to the bookstore for her call. Does Bean really wear high heels to work? I find that hard to believe here in Coco Key. I shuffle to the office in a building on the edge of Mr. Edmonton’s property and on the main street that passes through town.
A faint cigar smell puffs from Mr. Edmonton’s office as I open the door.
The formidable, mahogany desk sits in the center toward the back.
A large window faces the street and I see Mr. Muffin with the two other guys.
His shoulders are broad, his arms substantial, and although he doesn’t smile, his lips are the perfect amount of full.
There goes that hiccup again.
Letting out a long breath, I tell myself that I can do this. I’ll just read these documents, follow the instructions, and then I’m going to eat all of Bean’s chocolate.
Every. Last. Piece.
The man in the aviator sunglasses stands across the street with his hands on his hips. The athletic guy, who isn’t Mr. Muffin, shrugs. Then the man himself crosses the street with a purposeful stride.
He’s coming this way.
That means they’re coming here.
Are they the Almeidas?
I have to take cover.
The door creaks open.
Halfway under the desk, it’s too late. A deep voice calls, “Hello.”
Clearing my throat, I squeak, “In here.”
I can’t straighten because the high heel catches in the carpet, locking my foot at an awkward angle.
The three men enter the room—at least, I can see their feet.
“I thought the woman called from in here,” a rich, deep voice says.
“Affirmative.” A large face with a beard peers over the back of the desk. “What’s going on, miss?”
“Oh, hi. I dropped a paperclip.”
“There are plenty more up here in this container,” the guy with the aviators says.
“Oh, right. Yes. Silly me. It was my lucky paperclip.” Kicking off the high heel, I extricate myself from under the desk.
The three men from across the street stare at me in various states of confusion and concern. Well, except for Mr. Muffin. His eyes are narrowed with suspicion.
“How can I help you?”
“We’re here because—” the athletic guy hands me an envelope. Across the front, it says, Ryan.
I get to my feet and then stumble forward, forgetting I’m only wearing one shoe. With lightning-fast reflexes, Mr. Muffin grips my arm, holding me steady.
“Oopsie. Wouldn’t want to spill anything on anyone,” I say.
The two who aren’t Mr. Muffin look at me with confused curiosity.
Smoothing my skirt, I say, “Welcome to Edmonton Law. Please take a seat and we will get started.”
I glance down at a neat stack of papers, praying for instructions or for God to send down a lightning bolt to spare me from the horrid humiliation that’s sure to ensue.
Instead, there is some fine print about taking on the role of reader, executor, and purveyor of all items related to this will and last testament.
The three guys settle in front of me. There’s a likeness among them. Definitely brothers. Bean said something about the nice twin, or was it the mean twin?
Ryan says, “Shouldn’t we wait for CJ?”
I frown. I don’t want to wait for anyone or anything. We have to get this over with. “I’m not sure—”
Just then, a roar comes from across the street followed by a thud and then a hoot. The front door flies open. All three guys launch to their feet. I would but don’t want to risk toppling over or running out the back door from this increasingly stressful situation.
“I’m here. We can get the party started,” a male voice calls from behind the wall of brothers. A man wearing an open button-down shirt, shorts, and no shoes saunters into the room. His medium-length blond hair is wind-blown and he’s the kind of tan that suggests lots of time in the sun.
“CJ,” I’m not sure which brother says it or if it’s a chorus of all three, but the tone is somewhere between tolerance and exasperation. My guess is he’s the baby in the family.
Slouching into an empty chair, he kicks his heels onto the desk.
“Feet off,” the aviator says.
I proffer an apologetic smile because I’m not sure what is about to happen, but I’m afraid it’s not going to turn out well. “Okay, so we’re all here.”
“No,” the three who aren’t CJ say.
I glance at the time, my patience and put-togetherness at risk of unraveling. “I’m I-aye aye-aye, Miss Pratt.” That was a close one. I swallow thickly.
Mr. Muffin eyes me carefully like he’s onto me.
I discretely wipe the perspiration from my lip. “I’m here to review these documents with you, Misters McMgregor. We’ll start with taking attendance.”
My nerves double because I have no idea if I’m doing this part right. Bean has made me watch every episode of Law and Order, but I never paid attention to protocols. I was in it for the romantic subplots.